


Needed

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-31
Updated: 2003-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: An alternate season 3, picking up a few months after the Rage Party, as told by the girls and boys of Liberty Avenue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Can’t say I expected the kid to be happy. But he was, he truly was happy. And content, and satisfied, and… something else. Something I couldn’t quite make out. But to be sure, whatever it was, it was something good – positive. Something that didn’t exist when he was with that professional bullshit artist I love, as if he were my son. Though I’d rather chew my own toe nails than tell _that_ to the little fucker, and I’m sure he’d also rather chew mine, than hear me say it. Anyway, I admit, at first I was a bit… anxious? No, not anxious, maybe slightly concerned. Or could have even been just curious. Doesn’t matter what it was, the thing that does matter is that I was happy, pleased even, with how everything turned out in the end. 

But than of course, Sunshine had to pull a new one. 

It had been months since the comic launch. And almost everything was back to normal, or as normal as anything could get around here; given the situation and the people we’re talking about. Ted and Emmett were playing house, cooing over one another in a way that would have made me gag when I was negative, but now I just look on, maybe even bathing in their innocent happiness – a little. The Munchers continued to drop in every now and then, bringing that little bundle of joy, the newest addition to our Liberty family. Fuck, I love that kid. Though I can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like when he grows up, living amongst the fags and the dykes can’t be easy… I just hope he’ll be strong enough to overcome the prejudice, with any luck he’ll have gotten Mr. I-don’t-give-a-fuck’s ‘don’t fuck with me’ genes. Who knows, maybe I’ll still be around to share some of my fucked up wisdom with him. It seems I’ve wondered off once again… Anyway, Mikey had just met Ben, the drop dead gorgeous CM professor; I’d have fucked him if I were any younger. We could have been a great match… both been positive and all. But, life’s a bitch that way, and Mikey’s the one fucking him, something that my dear old, tolerant, understanding, faghag of a sister, had only just accepted, although to say she was reluctant would have been an understatement. And Brian. That little fucker – there was nothing new about him, he was still cruising, still picking up tricks, still getting alley way blow jobs, still fucking brilliant at work… oh and careful to pre… excuse me, I mean _show_ that little Sunshine wasn’t, isn’t, and will never be, anything more than a mere acquaintance from Babylon – that he’s already had of course. 

Back to the story, so we were all at Woody’s, that is everyone except for the lesbians. The TV was on, showing all sorts of horror images from around the world. Derailed trains, plane crashes, bombings, cruisers sinking… so needless to say, no one paid attention. We had better things to discuss, well not really, just the same old, same old, but it was still a hell of a lot more cheerful than the news! Anyway, so none of us had seen Sunshine for almost three weeks, but no one was that concerned to be honest. After the comic book launch, he’d pulled away from the rest of the gang, only keeping in frequent contact with Deb and myself. Oh, and Mikey of course, but not voluntarily, so he doesn’t count. And at this time, both Deb and I were preoccupied with the whole ‘Mikey’s positive/negative relationship’ situation, and had frankly neglected Sunshine. Anyway, we knew he was happy, I wasn’t worried, and either was Deb. I should have guessed something would happen sooner or later, nothing ever stayed peaceful in our lives, not for long anyway. 

So, Deb’s new cell phone rang. Yes, she had gotten herself one of these; well actually it had been Brian who had gotten it for her. But that’s a story for another day. So she picked up, did this whole act about answering it.

“Hello. Debra Novotny speaking.” 

Oh _please_! But that didn’t stop me from laughing hysterically at the time. The bar was packed, and the crowd was rowdy. So it went without saying that Deb wasn’t able to make out a single word of whatever the person on the other end was saying, so she excused herself and made her way out onto the street. Whilst she was gone, the pool table the boys had their eyes on the entire evening, was finally freed up, I hadn’t finished my drink yet, so I offered to stay at the bar, minding Deb’s outrageously patterned handbag. Besides, I didn’t quite feel like playing just yet. 

I remember it rather vividly, after about 10 minutes or so at the bar, I had finished my drink, and was growing a little bored and restless, wondering what the hell was keeping Deb, and more importantly, who the hell was ringing her cell in the first place. I kept an eye on the entryway of Woody’s, preparing to rip her a new one, for her, no doubt, continuous yapping. It was a bad idea getting Deb that phone, one more excuse for her to talk 24/7. So I had just about had enough of waiting, when she finally appeared in the doorway. Even from the distance, her face was ghastly white, she looked shocked, dazed even, and well - that just wasn’t Deb. I began to worry… what could have made her so… well… so… so… so like _this_? Maybe it was my doctor? Maybe it was the bank? I must have really been out of it, because it was 10 o’clock in the evening, and neither my doctor, nor the bank operated at that hour of the day. I felt myself begin to panic, even a man as well versed in staying calm and collected as me, was feeling the desire to hyperventilate. But you see, you don’t know my sis; nothing short of catastrophic could reduce her to this. But I didn’t have time to panic, to sort out my emotions, or even to think. 

Because just at that moment… Deb went down.


	2. Needed

It was only yesterday I spoke to him last. He rang me up as soon as Ethan had left for rehearsal. He was positively squealing with excitement, giving me blow-by-blow accounts of all the galleries he toured, all the monuments he visited, and of course… Ethan. Ethan this, Ethan that, how terrific Ethan was, how much of a prodigy Ethan was, how much everyone loved Ethan, how much he loved Ethan… I’m pretty sure the only one he was missing was how much Ethan loved himself. 

Oh God. 

I’m sorry, I… I’m a terrible person, how could I say that? And now of all time? 

Oh God. 

He had been so passionate, so full of life, so bloody obsessive on the phone. I’m used to it of course, having suffered through many years of been dragged around to all the art galleries within a 500 mile radius of Pittsburgh. Oh how I hated it. 

It’s funny, he could go on and on for hours and hours about the most intimate details. Nothing deeply profound or philosophical - just little everyday things that most people take for granted, or just never notice. But he, he _always_ notices, he _always_ appreciates - okay maybe not always, as in ‘forever always’, but definitely ‘recently always’, or at least ever since a couple of months ago… yet, he would always remain tight lipped about Ethan. Every time I ask, he would go silent and then get slightly red faced and tongue-tied. It was cute in a way, if not slightly nauseating. 

I look in the mirror. I see a black girl with red, puffy eyes, and dry, cracked lips. I hardly recognize her… should I even recognize her? I feel oddly detached, this feeling… as if I’m drifting above the room, looking down, at… well, at someone who is supposed to be me, but yet so much a stranger. I’m pretty sure this is a somewhat new development, yet I can’t remember what I felt like before, what it felt like to be… _here_. I don’t think I can pinpoint exactly when this feeling began, but I’m pretty sure it started with that phone call. 

I was getting ready to hit the mall; I needed some new clothes, as well as this awesome book that I had had my eye out for since… like, forever. Anyway, my cell phone rang, just as I was about to get in the car, and you know what? I’m so bloody grateful, to whatever God that decided to pity me at that moment, that I _had_ gotten the call before hitting the highway. One bloody tragedy was enough - definitely enough. I’m sorry; I’m getting ahead of myself. Well, I have a habit of checking the caller ID before answering any calls, call me paranoid, but after watching reruns of Scream, I was afraid to answer the phone for a week. It had been Jus…

Anyway, it was Mrs. Taylor. Her voice was low, and shaking so badly I could hardly understand her. So when she said it, I thought… I thought I had misheard. Actually, I was _positive_ that I had misheard. I remember asking, over and over again… what the hell she was on about? What did she mean? It must have been hell, to have to repeat it over and over again. I hate myself for putting her through that, but at the time, I think I was numb. I’m sure I temporarily developed selective hearing. But in the end there was no use. The truth was the truth, and there was no point in avoiding it, in denying it, in ignoring it. Oh, but how I wish I could, how I wish I could forget about it, to pretend that call never happened. That everything is fine, that Justin will ring me tomorrow afternoon and give me the 411 on everything he did. 

But that wasn’t, and couldn’t be the case. 

I don’t quite remember when I offered to ring Deb. All I know was that a few hours later, actually, _many_ hours later, because I just couldn’t… wasn’t… 

Oh. God. 

Anyway, I finally made the call. I think she was out, because the noise on her end was so loud, I could hear people in the background, cheering, laughing, and having the fucking time of their lives. I wanted to scream at them. How could they laugh? How could they cheer? Didn’t they know? 

Of course they didn’t. 

It felt like a cruel form of reversed déjà vu. Deb kept asking me to repeat myself, just like I had done to Mrs. Taylor, to speak louder - but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to scream it out to the entire world; I didn’t even want to scream it out to myself. But in the end I did. I lost it, and I… I hate myself for loosing it, for breaking it to Deb in such a callous way. And then it was suddenly silent on Deb’s end. But it was a deafening silence, because in that silence, I heard the echoes from my earlier cry, surrounding me, torturing me. 

“The club Justin and Ethan were at was bombed, we don’t know if they survived.”

_We don’t know if they survived. We don’t know if they survived. We don’t know. If Justin survived…_

Oh damn you Justin Taylor. Damn you to hell and back! Why did you have to go to fucking Europe? You wanted to see art? Fine. There are plenty of galleries in Pittsburgh. Was it me? Was it because I didn’t want to go with you to these galleries? Because damn it Justin! I will follow you willingly to every single gallery in this entire fucked up universe if you could just be… if you could just… just…

If you could just come back.


	3. Needed

I cannot believe Brian. Fucking. Kinney. 

Alright. So they're not together anymore. But so what? What the fuck kind of excuse is that? I've had it up to _here_ of that asshole, period. I mean, they lived together for over a year; they were fuck buddies for almost two. I would have thought _that_ alone would have merited some sort of concern from that sonofabitch. And besides which, Justin really… really did love him.

I don't know _why_. I don't see the appeal personally. Justin could do so much better than that bastard! Oh. Yeah, I forgot… he has. He found Ethan.

Ethan was… _is_ nice. I like Ethan, Ethan treats Justin right, Ethan _loves_ Justin, Ethan puts Justin's needs before his own, and Ethan is the complete opposite of Brian Fucking Kinney. Justin needs someone like that, he deserves to be loved, to be adored, to be taken care of, to be missed, to be… to be. He needs to forget Brian.

That fucker.

Because I _know_ it's all his fault. I mean what was he doing at Babylon that night anyway? He _knew_ it was nearly time. But still that fucking faggot went out to get his fucking balls sucked. If Justin hadn't met him… if Brian hadn't taken him home and fucked his lights out, then maybe… maybe Justin wouldn't have met Ethan. And they wouldn't have… See? It's all the fucker's fault! 

....

....

.... Oh what am I doing? Getting all worked up over _him_! Hardly worth it! But, I can't believe, even if it is Brian, that he'd… he'd not care about Justin. That he'd _leave_ him there, alone, in some foreign country with that fiddler! Justin needs Brian. He _needs_ Brian! I hate this. I hate that he needs Brian, but it's true. It's fucking obvious. Surely even assholes aren't oblivious! So why the fuck isn't he at the airport with the rest of us?

Fine, so he has an excuse. _Apparently_ , he has a meeting tomorrow afternoon with some big ass hot shot, and if he doesn't attend, Vanguard will loose the account. Oh, and that account is, allegedly, worth millions… this is, of course, all according to that fucked up asshole. Now, what can I say to that? Nothing. I can say absolutely shit all. Because lest I forget, that job of his pays for Gus, for his future education, for his extra living expenses, for his _life_. Because Linds and I are, of course, redundant, we have useless jobs that pay for fuck all. Since _all_ our living expenses are being covered by Mr. Top-fuck and his flashy job! Give me a fucking break. I don't know why Lindsay indulges him. He's not a child; he's not _her_ child least of all. He needs to get out of that stupid funk of his and just _live_ , grow up and move on! He needs to get his fucking ass over to Austria and take care of Justin. Oh fuck Brian. Just take care of him, once, just once.

Shit. I have to calm myself down. It won't do anyone any good if I break down; I have to be strong for Lindsay, for Debbie, for Emmett. But just give me a moment. I'm allowed a moment to break apart aren't I? Just as long as I put myself back together again at the end. Ever since that phone call, I don't know if I should be crying or laughing, or even screaming. I had never lived a longer day than yesterday. I felt every single, fucking second of that horrible day – I do not ever want to live through that experience again. Everyone (minus Brian, that fucker didn't even turn up!) was on tenterhooks, sitting around at Deb's waiting, worrying, millions of `what ifs' racing through our minds. And then of course, along with these `what ifs' were the `don't you dares'. Each time the phone rang, and for some unexplainable reason, it seemed to be constantly ringing last night, we would all jump up and nervously glance at the phone, unconsciously holding in our breath. Yet none of the calls were the ones we wanted, waited for. Not the first ones anyway. But just when we were planning another joyous day of waiting at Deb's, the phone rang again, and it was Jennifer.

I was the one to pick up. And to be honest, I really didn't expect that call to be _the_ call. Or maybe, I didn't want, didn't allow myself to believe, to think, that the call could be it. Anyway I picked up, and it was Jennifer on the line, as polite as always… even with her son's life an uncertainty. I remember getting a little tongue tied, stuttering away the first few seconds with needless questions, out of some twisted sense of nicety. It was Jennifer who veered the conversation to the track it was supposed to lead. And I must admit, I am terribly ashamed of myself for having done that to her. It was supposed to be me who was logical, reasonable, who still thought clearly, who did not do what she wanted, but what she needed and had to do. Well, what a load of crap that turned out to be.

The conversation itself was pretty one sided - my end, been the non-communicado end. That was largely due to this overbearing numbness, which engulfed me totally and completely at Jennifer's first few words.

"They've been found. Both are still alive."

Nothing else mattered, no one else mattered, to my eternal shame, not even Gus mattered at that very moment. My expression must have been quite a sight, one that definitely did not bear good news, because when I hung up, so many people refused to look at me, in fact… the only ones that would meet my eye were Vic, Debbie and of course, Lindsay. Even Michael looked as if he would burst into tears any moment. So you could probably imagine their expression when I told them the actual news. I will always cherish that moment. Always.

Oh Justin, why? Why did you go? Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you tell me? Don't you know that Pittsburgh is full of people who care about you? Who love you? So don't you dare go anywhere kiddo. Don't you dare! Do you hear me? Because you're still Gus' favourite babysitter and we all want you back.


	4. Needed

He’s alive. They’re _both_ alive.

I know I should be happy. And I am… sort of. It’s complicated. I know they say I’m not very perceptive, and it’s true, I’m not. Or at least, not where most things are concerned. But there’s one thing that I know _I_ know. And that’s Brian. We’ve been best friends for more than sixteen years, I know him like the back of my hand. He likes to think he’s mysterious, that he’s imperceptible, an enigma on Liberty Avenue - a legend. But really he’s not, an enigma that is. Not when I know him as well as I do. 

Brian. You know, before Justin came along, whenever Brian Kinney was mentioned, one automatically thought of me – Michael Novotny. Well all right, my name only came up _after_ ‘the Greatest Fuck in History’, or ‘Stud of Liberty Avenue’, or possibly, ‘Asshole Extraordinaire’ – but that’s only when it’s Ma, Emmett, Ted, or Mel. My point is, my name was the first _name_ that came up when one thought of Brian Kinney. But not anymore, not since Justin. Never since Justin. And I know, that in Brian’s own special Kinney way, he liked it, hell he still likes it – even if now it’s ‘He was Dumped by that Justin Kid Right?’ Shit. I guess he just likes the fact that his name is eternally connected with Justin’s. Though, bets are, he’ll never admit that. 

I remember, after the Rage Party, Brian sort of went into ‘Pain Management Mode’. He must have fucked the entire population of Pittsburgh’s queers twice during that period! It was awful. He closed up to everyone, even me… he became a full time fuck machine. But I was nothing if not persistent, and eventually one night, I got him to talk, to express his feelings… in his special Kinney way. And now, I sort of wish I hadn’t been so pushy, so anxious to get him to tell me stuff, because it _sucks_. It sucks to know what he’s really feeling. It sucked to see him the way he was. It sucks to know that it _was_ , in part, my fault. It just plain sucked, sucks, and probably will suck for a long time yet. 

I had insisted on driving him home from one of our Babylon nights. He was fucking out of it, in no condition to drive. But he was also in one of his moods that was becoming more and more frequent, so it took a great deal of spitting on my part to get him in the passenger seat. Anyway, we got to the loft… and instead of going to bed like any normal wasted person; he went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Beam. Now, that entire day and night, and also the day before that, and the day before that, I had been pestering him about… well _him_. So anyway, when it looked like he wasn’t going to put down the Beam no matter what I said, I started to ask him questions again. Questions that I knew would shit him. 

I guess I asked one too many that night, because Brian… lost it. He came up to me; forehead pressed against mine, and whispered, “You want to know what’s wrong? Fine Mikey. Fine.” Then, he fucking went psycho. He started smashing anything and everything that _was_ smashable. The Beam bottle was first; he smashed it right by my ear. It was so loud. Fuck. I was shitting myself. And all the time that he was smashing, he was yelling. And me? I sort of just stood there, still in shock, watching my best friend fall apart in front of me, or at least as much as Brian Kinney can, and will, allow himself to fall apart. After a good twenty minutes, he finally calmed down, flopped down on his bed, and promptly fell asleep. We never mentioned that night again.

Afterwards, everything gradually went back to normal, as in before Justin. Or at least that was what Brian had us all believe. And fuck I’m ashamed to admit that I did believe him, at least at first I did. He never gave me reason otherwise. Anyway, it was that night at Woody’s, when we found out about Justin and his fiddler, that I started to see how much Brian still cared for him. When Ma came to (thank God!) and told us about Daphne’s call, we all sort of sat around and stared at her for a moment. I was positive I hadn’t heard her correctly; I mean she had been crying just before, and was still getting a hold of her breathing, so her speech wasn’t very clear – and it was not as if we’d expected Justin to be in a night club that got bombed, a night club in fucking Austria to be precise! I mean, we didn’t even know he was in Europe, _I_ didn’t even know he was in Europe… and I’m supposed to be his business partner! Anyway, it took us a while, lots of questioning, lots of phone calls, before it became clear that well… that well… Fuck! I can’t even fucking say it without having a fucking nervous breakdown. I mean, I wasn’t even that close to the kid! 

Shit, I’m drifting off. What I’m trying to say is that Brian, he – he still acted like an asshole. You know, when the news hit us, and I mean truly hit us… the only ones who were calm were Brian and Ben (or at least they appeared to be), and thank God for Ben, because Brian buggered off to Babylon pretty much straight away. At times like these, I truly appreciate how wonderful Ben is, I know he’s not perfect, he’s human after all, but he’s God Damn pretty close to being perfect! So yeah, I was pretty pissed off at Brian, he wasn’t returning any of my calls, and he wasn’t at the bloody loft either, or if he was, he wasn’t answering, and to be frank, I hadn’t the time to be worrying about him, besides, it wasn’t as if he was very effected by the news. I guess I just didn’t think… Anyway, the day that Mrs. Taylor was due to call, we were all waiting at Ma’s, I was beyond pissed at Brian, along with everyone else in the room. But, he called, my cell that is, and it was lucky that he rang while I was in the bathroom, because I have a feeling the call was meant for me and only me. He was really quiet, and the call was really short, he didn’t give me room to say anything much.

“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,” He said to me, “I can bag in you. I can always bag in you - you’re dependable. Why’d you have to be so fucking dependable? You know, have I ever told you how much I like Ben? Ben’s a great guy Mikey, and not only a great fuck, he’s dependable, like you. You’re dependable, he’s dependable, Deb’s dependable, Vic’s dependable, Linds’ dependable, even the fucking Nellie Queen is dependable! Everyone is fucking dependable. I should feel so God Damn lucky shouldn’t I? Surrounded by such dependable assholes? Well, this is your test Mikey, are you truly dependable?” And then he hung up. 

I knew then. It was like a sudden, God Damn epiphany, all of a sudden I _understood_. And that’s why the news of them _both_ surviving isn’t exactly making me want to throw a party. Shit, is it too terrible to say I had hoped and wished that the fiddler would… would just fucking disappear? Or… if he couldn’t, then maybe they could both disappear. Because now I _know_. Brian does give a shit, in his own way he does, and fuck, I am not going to let this turn into a replay of the bashing. I am not.


End file.
